


Candy in my Veins

by saladinthesky



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bloodplay, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 20:43:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7816576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saladinthesky/pseuds/saladinthesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damon and Alaric as I imagine them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candy in my Veins

**Author's Note:**

> I love Damon and Alaric and this is what my love for them led to (coupled with my love for BØRNS and the song "Electric Love," some lyrics of which I used for the title). It doesn't follow the plot of Vampire Diaries at all, this is just me imagining if Damon was Ric's student and became homecoming king and other fun stuff.

"High school is stupid," Damon Salvatore says, twisting the cap off a bottle of bourbon and scanning the crowded parking lot. "And you know what else is stupid. This whole 'attending high school is going to make my brother into a better person' plot."  
"Since you have an eternity to get your homework done, I figured you wouldn't mind spending a few hours behind a desk. Might even learn a few things, Damon." Stefan Salvatore grabs the bourbon from his brother and screws the lid on tight.  
"After you've been alive this long, you realize you know everything and that high school is pointless. And boring. Probably why it suits you so well, Stefan."  
Stefan spots Elena walking toward the front of the school and grabs his backpack from the backseat. Damon rolls his eyes as Stefan zips the bourbon inside for safekeeping. He'll undoubtedly keep it until the end of the day, so that Damon is safely away from school grounds when he goes on another bender. He's been having a lot of crazy, toxic nights lately--sometimes bourbon, sometimes blood. It probably has a little something to do with Elena's affections. Specifically, the fact that they're directed toward his younger brother.  
"If you don't mind, Damon, I'm going to class with my girlfriend." Stefan opens his door and gets out of the car. "I suggest you hurry to the office to pick up your schedule, or you'll be late for your first class."  
Damon makes a face and gets out of the car. It's a chilly day in mid-November, and he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket as he stalks toward the main office. He's not cold, just afraid that if his hands aren't tucked safely away, he might not be able to stop himself from strangling Stefan as he plants a chaste kiss on Elena's lips before heading inside the front doors. Seriously, the kind of closed-lips affair he just witnessed should've subjected Stefan to a Founder's Counsel shakedown. How do you survive over a century without showcasing true passion? Even if it's in front of all the kids Elena has gone to school with since kindergarten.  
Damon finds the main office and gets his schedule from a kind-looking woman in a pink sweater-set. He thinks for a moment that he ought to bleed her dry just so no one else has to spend the day staring at such a painful shade of magenta, but he simply he smiles and takes his schedule out into the hall.  
First period is history with some guy named Alaric Saltzman. Great. Damon is pretty sure Stefan and Elena are in that class, so he toys with the idea of ditching it and taking the pink sweater out for a walk. But he might be able to sneak his bourbon back if he can snag a seat near Stefan, and it might be fun so show his younger brother up in a subject they're both well-versed in. He starts looking for the classroom.  
The halls are mostly empty, which suits Damon just fine. Showing up to class late is the perfect way to impress upon Alaric Saltzman that his new student doesn't give a fuck about reading history from a textbook. That, in fact, his new student has lived the history.  
Damon finds the right room and pushes open the door. Sure enough, class has already begun and every student turns to look at the intruder. He catches Elena's eye and lifts the corner of his lips up in a smirk. She rolls her eyes.  
"Can I help you?"  
Damon turns toward the front of the class to take stock of his new history teacher. Standing against a dark chalkboard, Alaric Saltzman looks younger than most teachers, with light, shaggy hair and a beat-up blazer on over jeans.  
"I hope so. My name is Damon and apparently I'm supposed to be in this class. They say you're going to teach me something, though I'm a bit skeptical." Damon's smirk widens. "Should I take a seat, Ric?"  
"I do intend to teach you something, and it's Mr. Saltzman." The history teacher gestures to a seat toward the back of the room. "We're starting a lesson on the impact of Nosferatu on popular culture. Have you seen the film?"  
Damon takes his time walking to the empty desk, tapping his chin lightly as if he can hardly recall what Mr. Saltzman might be referring to.  
"You know, I think I've seen it. It's about zombies, if I remember right."  
"Vampires, actually."  
"Ah." Damon takes his seat, kicking his boots out into the aisle and leaning back against the hard plastic chair. "That's right. Vampires."  
"So," Alaric says, addressing the whole class, "as I was saying, the movie--"  
"Ric," Damon interrupts, raising his hand halfway. "This whole lesson seems a bit silly. Do you really believe in vampires?"  
Stefan clears his throat, but Damon doesn't take his eyes off Mr. Saltzman. The history teacher is failing to mask his annoyance, gripping the piece of chalk in his hands until the knuckles go white.  
"Whether or not I believe in vampires will not be on your final. The existence of them in popular culture will. So, as I was say--"  
"So you don't believe in them."  
"Do you even have a backpack, Damon? A pen and notebook?"  
"Nope." Damon grins.  
"How are you going to take notes?"  
Damon winces like the teacher caught him red-handed. "To be honest, Ric, I wasn't planning on taking notes. Doubt you'll say anything I don't already know."  
"Coming from the guy who thought Nosferatu was The Walking Dead."  
"Zombies, vampires--they're all just fictional things. Aren't they?"  
"Yes," Stefan chimes in, undoubtedly trying to spare the class from further discomfort. "They aren't real, Damon."  
"But what if they are real, brother?" Damon asks, grimacing theatrically. "What then?"  
"Then I'll kill them," Mr. Saltzman spits, shocking both brothers into silence. "Now can I go on, or do you have something else to say, Damon?"  
Damon meets Mr. Saltzman's steely gaze and shrugs like he didn't notice the sudden darkening in the teacher's mood.  
"Please," he says, gesturing to the rest of his class. "Enlighten us."  
"Stay after class," Mr. Saltzman says, setting the chalk down on his desk. "And we'll have a little chat about what is and isn't good classroom behavior."  
A smirk reappears on Damon's face and he rests his hands comfortably behind his head. "Can't wait."  
~~~  
Stefan joins Damon at his desk once Mr. Saltzman dismisses the class.  
"What the hell was that?" he demands.  
"Relax, brother. I was just getting to know my new history teacher."  
"Stefan, c'mon," Elena says, tugging on her boyfriend's arm.  
Damon raises his eyebrows and waits for them to leave. When Stefan doesn't move, Damon reaches to unzip Stefan's backpack and steal back his bourbon.  
"Now if you'll excuse me, Stefan, Elena." Damon opens the bottle and takes a swig. "I have a teacher to talk to."  
Damon walks to the front of the classroom, glaring at a girl until she stops staring at the obvious contraband in his hand. He'd already suffered through Prohibition, for Christ's sake.  
"Damon," Mr. Saltzman says, looking up from a stack of papers on his desk. "Thanks for staying--is that alcohol?"  
"This?" Damon eyes the label closely, as if he has no idea what he's carrying.  
"Our school has a zero tolerance policy against drugs and alcohol," Mr. Saltzman says, clearly stunned by Damon's disregard for authority.  
"Bummer," Damon says, taking a gulp. "Then I guess I'll just have to--"  
"No!" Stefan pushes Damon before his older brother can compel Mr. Saltzman to not report him to the office--or even the police. "You can't do this, Damon. It's your first day."  
"You mean I have to wait until tomorrow to compel our teacher?" Damon pretends to pout.  
"Damon," Elena says, sounding tired of his antics. Well, whatever. He's tired of her being such a tight-ass about everything. Both her and Stefan hate watching him have fun.  
Stefan leans over Mr. Saltzman's desk.  
"What the hell are you doing, Stefan?" Mr. Saltzman starts to reach for the phone on his desk, but Damon grabs it first.  
"You're going to forget this ever happened," Stefan says calmly, staring into their history teacher's eyes. "Damon didn't disrupt class today, and he's a great new student. Everyone left and there were no problems." He steps back and looks between Damon and Elena. "Let's go."  
"Guess my English teacher will have to be my drinking buddy," Damon says ruefully, looking down at Mr. Saltzman and raising his bottle in a mock toast. "Wish it could've been you, Ric."  
"Let's go, Damon," Elena insists, holding the door open.  
Damon takes another drink and looks down at the stack of essays on Mr. Saltzman's desk.  
"On second thought, it looks like you might actually need a drink."  
Damon sets the bourbon down in front of his new history teacher and follows Stefan out into the crowded hallway.  
"That went well," Stefan says, brow furrowed.  
"You kidding, Stefan?" Damon starts toward his next class. "That was me just getting started."  
~~~  
Stefan and Damon settle into a routine after their first week attending the same high school. Damon sucks down a blood bag as Stefan drives them to school, waving at elderly Ms. Kletke as they pass her front yard. The wrinkles around her eyes crease as she tried to figure out what it is he's drinking.  
"You're going to have to compel her to forget you, brother."  
"Stop pretending she's not delirious, Stefan. I'd say she's almost as old as you. She looks better for her age though."  
"Ha ha," Stefan says humorlessly. "Seriously, you'll arouse suspicion."  
"A century old and I'm still arousing." Damon finishes the blood bag and tosses it into the backseat. "Did you know that about half the girls in our history class have asked for my phone number?"  
"I hope you're not planning on inviting any of them over."  
"Oh, Stefan. I would never." Damon reclines his seat a little and grins lazily at his younger brother. "But surely you won't deny me a good grade in Ric's class if one of them wants to come over and tutor me."  
"None of our peers will be coming over, Damon. You can count on that."  
"You're no fun, Stefan."  
"One of us has to take this seriously, Damon. And we both know it won't be you."  
They pull into the school parking lot and Stefan swings into a spot near Bonnie's car. Damon grimaces and raises his collar slightly, like she won't notice him with this new disguise.  
"What are you doing?" Stefan asks.  
"Angry witch at three o'clock."  
"Elena's over there too. And Caroline."  
"Oh, that's great Stefan. My whole fan club in one place."  
"Want to go say good morning?" Stefan chuckles and gets out of the car to join his waiting girlfriend.  
Without a place to hang out, Damon goes to Mr. Saltzman's class. Arriving fashionably early is not as enticing as causing a scene by running late, but it'll have to do for today.  
Damon pushes open the door and there's a sudden rustling, followed by a whispered, "Shit." In the half-darkness, Mr. Saltzman is trying to hide a fresh mug of whisky behind a stack of textbooks. He seems to relax when he sees Damon.  
"Ric," Damon says in a chiding tone. "Tsk tsk, aren't we hitting the bottle a little early?"  
"Mr. Saltzman," he says in a resigned voice that knows the formal title won't catch on. "I can trust you not to turn me in?"  
"You've got a friend in me," Damon says, sitting on top of a desk near the teacher's. "Or an accomplice, depending on how you see it. Rough night?"  
"Rough few years."  
With the overhead lights off, Mr. Saltzman's face is illuminated only by the silvery light spilling in through the windows. Like most November days in Mystic Falls, the sun is covered by a lacy patchwork of stormclouds and it looks like rain.  
Damon reaches out and takes the whisky from Mr. Saltzman's hand. Before the teacher can protest, he takes a sip and carefully considers.  
"Not bad, Ric," he says, setting it down on the desk between them. "Scottish?"  
"Yeah." Ric grips the mug like he's afraid Damon might take another drink.  
"I have some nice crystal tumblers at home. I'll bring one for you. No whisky that good should be poured into a mug that shitty." He smiles.  
"Thanks, Damon. But as your teacher, you know I can't accept a gift like that."  
"Suit yourself." Damon gets up and walks to the wide windows. From here, he can see his brother chatting with Matt as Elena and Bonnie laugh at something Caroline just told them. They're no more than a hundred yards away, standing under the same orange-leaf tree as yesterday, but he might as well be watching them on a TV screen. All his life he's lived isolated, unable to forge lasting friendships, and forced to watch his brother have it all.  
"See anything interesting out there?"  
"No. Just my brother, pandering to humans. Being weak. The usual."  
"Humans?" Damon can hear Mr. Saltzman turning the word over in his mind, grasping at something that seems impossible.  
"Yes, humans." Damon turns away from the window and stalks back to where the teacher is now standing. "Like you, Ric."  
Mr. Saltzman's brown eyes are wide, looking Damon up and down like he's trying to figure out the sum of all his parts. Damon laughs.  
"Relax, Ric."  
"You're a--a--"  
"I know Nosferatu is a vampire," Damon says, grinning. "I know you don't remember our conversation--you can blame Stefan for that. A little compulsion did just the trick. But you know, stories of fictional vampires are so boring. It's the real ones you should be teaching about."  
Mr. Saltzman leaps at him, whipping a stake out from a hidden pocket in the inside of his tan blazer. Damon jumps back in surprise, raising his hands in surrender.  
"Truce, Ric. I'm not going to hurt you."  
Mr. Saltzman takes another swipe with the stake, slicing harmlessly through the air.  
"So you're a vampire hunter, huh?" Damon's eyes glitter as he takes in the history teacher with renewed interest.  
"I'm going to kill you," Mr. Saltzman promises, rushing at Damon with the stake raised high.  
In a flash, Damon has both Mr. Saltzman's hands pinned behind his back. The wooden stake clatters to the ground and Damon kicks it away with the toe of his black boots.  
"Time to reverse roles," Damon says, breathing quietly in Mr. Saltzman's ear. "It's time you learned that I'm the one you need to be afraid of--not the other way around. I could kill you right now, and I would. But the truth is, I like you. And you drink whisky out of a mug, so I feel sorry for you. And kids may think history is pointless, but you have a job to do. I'm going to let you do it."  
Damon releases Mr. Saltzman. The teacher runs to grab his stake off the ground but doesn't make another move to drive it through Damon's heart. He tucks it back into his jacket and runs a hand through his hair.  
"Take a seat," he says roughly, going to his desk and pouring another mug of whisky.  
Damon sits in his usual desk, flicking pencil shavings off the edge.  
"I believe that this is a classic case of 'I won't tell if you won't.' I won't clue the principal into your early morning benders if you keep the whole vampire thing very hush-hush." He rolls his eyes. "I don't care if people know, but my brother seems to be set on the whole 'let's be friends with humans' thing."  
Mr. Saltzman is glaring at him, breathing hard through his obvious rage.  
"I can see that it's taking all your self control to stop yourself from trying to kill me again," Damon says. "So thank you. Your efforts don't go unnoticed."  
Mr. Saltzman downs his mug in just a few gulps and stores the evidence in a desk drawer before students begin to file in.  
"Why are you in my class?" Mr. Saltzman asks, looking somewhat pained that there's a vampire sitting in front of his tacked-up map of the United States.  
Damon shrugs, amused. "I don't know, Mr. Saltzman. Maybe I thought you could teach me something."  
Mr. Saltzman shakes his head, and Damon wonders if that's a laugh he hears or a mumbled threat.  
"Please, Damon, let's not kid ourselves here. It's Ric."  
~~~  
Damon's not quite sure how he got roped into attending the homecoming football game. More specifically, how he ended up on the float.  
"Are you sure you won't do it?" Caroline whines, looking to Stefan. She asked him to ride on the float, but he insisted watching in the crowd with Elena instead of participating.  
"I'm sure," he says, shooting Damon a patronizing smile. "Besides, my brother could use a little school spirit."  
Caroline rolls her eyes as Stefan heads back to rejoin Elena in the bleachers.  
"I can't believe you don't think I'm spirited enough for this," Damon says, feigning offense. "It's like I'm not a real Timberwolf in your eyes."  
"Let's not talk about what you are in my eyes," Caroline snaps, looking down at her clipboard. "Or better yet, let's not talk at all."  
"Happy to oblige." Damon swats away a cheerleader who tries to paint his face and looks around. He can hardly admit it to himself, but a part of him is hoping to see Ric at the game. Do teachers attend trivial things like football games? What about teachers that hide stakes in their jacket pockets and start their day off with a stiff drink? Since their early-morning standoff, Damon has spent all his mornings with Ric, telling him of the histories not present in the required class readings.  
"Damon, wipe that dumb look on your face and let Jade paint you," Caroline barks.  
Damon looks down. A girl with curly red hair is staring petulantly, tub of facepaint in hand.  
"Hi," he says with a sarcastic smile. "I'm sorry, but you're not painting my face tonight. Goodbye."  
He didn't need compulsion to make her walk away. Caroline glares at him and he shrugs innocently.  
"Blame Stefan."  
"I blame you!" Caroline rushes away and Damon hops down from the float. It's a cheesy thing, tethered to the back of Matt's old pickup truck and shedding hay even when it's not moving. The theme, for some inexplicable reason, seems to be the Wild West. Damon's usual black leather is in stark contrast to the denim and flannel the cheerleaders are dressed in.  
"Damon," a familiar voice says, catching him by surprise. "I didn't think you'd be one for extracurriculars."  
"Hate to break it to you, but I'm the most spirited vampire this school has ever seen."  
Ric looks around, making sure no one is close enough to hear them.  
"Subtle, Damon."  
"What are you doing here? Social life so dull that you have to hang out at school on weekends?"  
"I'm chaperoning the dance."  
"Ah, a social life so bad you have to volunteer to chaperone the homecoming dance. This is a tragedy, Ric."  
"Coming from the guy who probably used compulsion to fulfill his dreams of being in the homecoming parade."  
"Based off my flannel and obvious enthusiasm for this parade, it looks like you've caught me. I've spent a century pining after stealing the homecoming spotlight and winning prom king."  
"That is, when you're not killing innocent people."  
"Don't flatter yourself into thinking you know me, Ric," Damon says, his voice warning. Their faces have gotten close, trying to prove they mean business under the bright stadium lights.  
"But I do know you, Damon. You're a vampire--the ultimate predator. And the fact that I haven't already killed you shows that I'm weak."  
"The fact that I haven't killed you shows that I'm weak," Damon counters. "And I bet if I sucked your blood right here--" he lightly traces the sensitive palm of Ric's hand for one lightning-fast second "--you would love the way it felt."  
Ric crosses his arms, suddenly defensive.  
"Something wrong, Ric?"  
"Screw you." Ric turns and takes off for the bleachers--quickly putting distance between himself and Damon.  
"That's hardly a way to talk to a student," Damon calls ruefully, but Ric doesn't respond to the chiding.  
"What do you know, a teacher who doesn't like you."  
"What do you want Caroline." Damon doesn't turn around, watching Ric go with an unfamiliar feeling settled low in his stomach.  
"I want you to get back on the float. It's almost halftime!"  
For once, Damon doesn't take the opportunity to needle her about the pointlessness of the parade, and high school events in general. He gets back on the float and sits on a hay bale, wondering why Ric running away bothers him so much. Wondering why he's looking forward to seeing Ric dressed up at the dance.  
"Damon, look alive," Caroline snaps, whacking his boot with her clipboard.  
"Funny thing is, I'm not alive."  
"You're so freaking unbelievable."  
"Thank you," Damon smirks, standing up and taking his place in the center of all the cheerleaders. Being in the parade shouldn't be too hard--as far as he can tell, all it entails is waving his arms like some overspirited dickhead and smiling along with the properly dressed pack of cheerleaders. Piece of cake.  
"Is your brother still dating Elena?"  
Damon looks over at a cheerleader who's staring at him with a hopeful expression.  
"Unfortunately, yes."  
"Ugh, seriously? I saw them walking apart today and thought I was in luck. Stefan's so hot."  
"Not as hot as me." Damon gives her a hard smile and turns away, eyes on the waiting crowd. Caroline counts down from ten and the precession begins.  
~~~  
Damon ducks out of the dance and pulls a flask out of his inner jacket pocket. He tries to think of it as a way to take the edge off--after all, that many sweaty bodies inside a single dark gym is sort of hard to resist. But really, he could use a little liquid courage. When it comes to Ric, he's been really off his game.  
"Drinking already, Damon?"  
He turns, not bothering to hide the thin silver flask. Ric is walking toward him, hands stuffed into the pockets of his black dress pants. His all-black suit is practically the reason Damon had to come outside in the first place.  
"At least I'm not drinking before class, Mr. Saltzman."  
"Well, I'd tell you to dump it out, but I'm guessing you're of a legal drinking age."  
"You could say that."  
"Are you older than me?"  
"Honestly, Ric, I feel like you only want to know that so you can start throwing out old man jokes. I'm not going to give you the satisfaction."  
"So you're old."  
"I'm really fucking old." Damon holds out the flask and Ric takes it.  
"I should've killed you, that morning in my classroom," Ric says, taking a swig and handing it back.  
"So why didn't you?"  
"I'm not sure, Damon. Maybe I'm more compassionate than I thought possible."  
"Or maybe you took my threat to kill you seriously. Which was smart of you, because I wouldn't hesitate to kill you. I'm not like my brother in that way."  
Ric laughs and glances over his shoulder.  
"I should get back."  
"Stay," Damon says, betrayed by the hint of desperation in his voice. "No one wants you in there anyway."  
"So because no one likes a chaperone I should get drunk in the halls with a vampire?"  
The corner of Damon's lips twitches up in a smirk.  
"Something like that."  
Ric shakes his head but reaches for the flask. Damon lets him have it and goes to the closed gym doors. He props one open slightly so that music spills out into the hall. A slow song is playing--it's something he doesn't recognize. He returns to Ric and takes the flask back, slipping it into his tuxedo jacket.  
"Have you ever danced with a vampire before?" Damon asks, holding his hands out as an offering.  
"You can't be serious." Ric laughs, but he's already slipping his hands into Damon's and waiting for further instructions. If he's feeling anything like Damon in this moment, his inhibitions are few and far between.  
Damon spins Ric away and reels him back in, each movement light and effortless. There's something breathless in the way their bodies move, one moment melting into the next.  
"Where'd you learn to dance?" Ric asks.  
"I've been around long enough to pick up a move or two."  
"God, Damon, do you always act like this?"  
"Act like what?"  
"A smug bastard."  
Damon grins and tugs Ric toward him. Their hands are loosely entwined, fingertips brushing and knuckles bumping.  
"I should go back," Ric says unwillingly.  
Damon looks at him pleadingly and doesn’t let go of his hands. They stay like that for a long minute, forgetting to sway back and fourth to the music coming from inside the crowded gym. Forgetting about the music and the crowded gym entirely.  
"Fuck it," Ric growls, steering Damon toward his dark classroom. He opens the door in one sure movement and Damon allows himself to be pulled inside and shoved against the chalkboard.  
"Since our relationship is clearly no longer that of a normal teacher and student, can I take it upon myself to bring you a couple nice crystal tumblers?" Damon asks innocently.  
In response, Ric takes a wooden stake out of his jacket pocket and lets it clatter to the floor.  
"I should've killed you when I had the chance," he says.  
"I should've killed you when I had the chance," Damon murmurs, watching Ric with half-lidded amusement.  
Ric steps back like he's trying to gather himself and opens the drawer that contains his hidden stash. He pulls a bottle out and unscrews the lid, taking a drink. He offers it to Damon, who downs the rest and slams it on the desk.  
"Enough stalling," he growls, grabbing the lapels of Ric's jacket and pinning him against the desk. He kisses Ric roughly, loving the sandpaper scrape of stubble along Ric's sharp jawline. Sharp but sweet is how Damon would describe it, and when Ric's lips part he realizes this isn't the only thing to fit under this category. Ric tastes honey-sweet and whiskey-sharp all at once.  
Then Ric is pulling away and Damon is breathing heavily, able to think of nothing except his desire to be kissing those sharp-sweet lips again.  
"What…are we doing," Ric gasps, hardly able to get the words out.  
"You don't like it," Damon sighs, the usual feeling of disappointment draping over him like an itchy blanket. As much as he wants to continue, he would never compel Ric in this kind of situation. He already cares too much, and he's weak because of it.  
"No, Damon, I love it. That--that's the problem."  
Damon traces a lazy finger from Ric's earlobe to his lips and back.  
"Afraid I don't see the problem."  
"You're a vampire, Damon."  
"And you're a human. But I'm not being judgy."  
Ric pulls away from Damon's touch and tosses the empty bottle carelessly into his desk drawer.  
"I have to go."  
He grabs his stake and rushes from the room. The door slams shut behind him. Damon is now alone in the empty classroom, so he walks to the windows and straightens his suit jacket. Outside, a half-moon illuminates couples already taking to their cars, ready to steam up the windows well before their parents expect them home.  
Damon watches them for a while, remembering how it felt when he watched Elena and Stefan walk through the parking lot with their group of friends. Somehow, Ric had relieved that feeling of loneliness. Despite their differing opinions, Damon's annoying history teacher was the only friend he'd made at school.  
Deciding to salvage the evening, Damon heads back to the gym. His veins are like lighting bolts, shooting electricity into every part of his body. The electricity seems to be spurring him to do one thing: Get Ric's attention.  
Damon pushes the gym doors open and makes his way to the center of the dance floor. The song is something loud, with heavy bass and high-pitched vocals. Damon starts dancing and spots Elena dancing in a circle with Stefan and Caroline. She meets his eyes and he takes off his suit jacket, letting it fall to the floor. Then he starts undoing the buttons on his white shirt until it hangs freely open. He smirks as Elena rolls her eyes at his naked torso, knowing she has to pretend to hate it.  
He grabs the hand of a random girl and whirls her away from her date.  
"Wanna dance?" he asks, noticing that she's one of the cheerleaders who tried to paint him earlier.  
"Yeah," she says, looking back apologetically at her date. She lets Damon lead her around the dance floor, giggling when people stare at them and part so they have a clear path from one edge of the gym to the other. Soon enough, everyone's watching.  
"I've never been this popular," she says.  
"I'm not usually Mr. Popularity either."  
"My boyfriend is going to be so pissed. My name is Giselle, by the way."  
Damon shushes her and indicates that she should run at him. She does, and he lifts her up and spins her back to the ground. Here's hoping Ric is watching.  
Here's hoping Ric is jealous.  
~~~  
The winners of homecoming king and queen are announced soon after, and no one seems surprised when Damon and Giselle are asked onstage to receive their crowns. Damon accepts his at a jaunty angle, letting it sit crookedly to the left. Giselle places hers carefully on top of her curls and they take to the gym floor to grace the students and faculty with a victory dance.  
"Are you single?" Giselle whispers as they waltz around in the eye of a spotlight.  
"No. And it sounds like you aren't, either."  
"You're right," she admits, looking crestfallen.  
"Go find your boyfriend," Damon says, letting go of her. "This party is over anyway."  
Giselle nods and wanders off into the crowd. Damon heads to the doors and leaves the dance, walking through the halls and out into the night.  
"Damon!"  
He stops, wondering if the voice is a cruel hallucination triggered by too much hope. A hand grips his shoulder and he turns.  
"What the hell, Damon?" Ric's tie is loosened and he looks like he's about ready to stake something.  
"You're going to have to be more specific." Damon rolls his eyes and continues walking, as if the whole stunt wasn't for Ric's benefit.  
"I tried to practice a little self-restraint," Ric says angrily, struggling to keep pace with Damon. "I tried to hold back for both our sakes, and you had to fuck it up."  
"I was having a little fun, Ric. If you consider that a fuck up, I feel sorry for you."  
"Take me home," Ric says, finally catching Damon's arm and stopping him from going any further.  
Damon gives him a long look.  
"My car is this way."  
Ric nods and doesn't pull away when Damon laces their fingers together. With their soft wrists pressed together, Damon can feel the fast flutter of Ric's pulse and the lightning begins to strike within him once more.  
When they get to the car, Damon takes the crown off his head and places it on Ric.  
"Consider it an apology. For, you know, using the dance as a means to get your self-restraint out of the way."  
"You did steal the show."  
"That I did." Damon unlocks the passenger door and goes around to the driver's side. The car roars to life when he turns the keys in the ignition and shifts out of park.  
They drive fast through the streets of Mystic Falls, slowing only to turn into the driveway that winds to the front of the Salvatore mansion.  
"Not bad," Ric says, eyeing the brick edifice.  
"When you have centuries to get rich, it's cheating. C'mon."  
They get out of the car and go inside.  
"Drink?" Damon asks, guiding Ric to the sunken living room.  
"Always."  
Damon pours two glasses of scotch and sits on a couch near the hearth. Ric follows suit, lounging just a few inches from Damon. The living room should be cold and imposing, but with firelight playing off the walls and a beautiful man sitting next to him, Damon couldn't be more content to enjoy his drink. That is, until Ric's hands start exploring the exposed planes of Damon's chest, drawing constellation lines between his collarbones and the dark, silken hair that disappears into the waistband of his pants.  
Damon catches his hand before it can go further and sets his drink down. Wordlessly, he takes Ric's drink and sets it down next to his own.  
"Ric, I know that to you I'm some big, bad vampire--and I am a big, bad, attractive vampire--but you actually don't bother me that much. And that's rare. So please, Ric--"  
"I'm not going to fuck you and leave, Damon," Ric says gently, somehow understanding Damon's fears before they're fully explained. "You annoy the shit out of me, but that doesn't mean I don't want to make love to you."  
"Jesus, Ric, that's not what I meant."  
"It's exactly what you meant."  
Damon doesn't try to defend himself again. He leans in and grazes the tip of his nose along the hollow beneath Ric's jaw, breathing in the thick scent. He licks at the spot where Ric's pulse throbs, separated from Damon's deadly fangs by just a few layers of tissuepaper skin. The kind of trust that Ric is giving him right now is the kind Damon never wants to betray.  
A soft, repressed groan builds in Ric's throat and buzzes against Damon's lips.  
"Let's go upstairs," he whispers, lips sucking light kisses beneath Ric's ear.  
"Lead the way," Ric says, his breath hitching when Damon whisks him to his feet. "Does this mean I get to see your bedroom?"  
"Unless you want me to leave you in the hallway," Damon says, lapsing into his sarcastic tendencies for a fleeting second. He opens the door to his room and lets Ric walk in first.  
"Whoa."  
"Were you expecting something different?"  
"Honestly, yeah."  
"I don't sleep in a coffin. Sorry to disappoint."  
Ric laughs and Damon closes the door behind them in case Stefan and Elena come home. He shrugs out of his shirt, which was barely clinging to his shoulders to begin with, and kicks his boots off. Right now, Ric is his partner and prey, and the thought turns him on more than anything.  
"Lay down," Ric says, stripping off his shirt to reveal a fine dusting of hair across his chest.  
Damon is more than happy to oblige, flopping back against the pillows and giving Ric a goofy grin that's very unDamonlike. At least, unlike the Damon that most people get to see.  
"You know, I never thought I'd say this, but you're pretty cute."  
"Fuck off, Ric. Puppies and kittens are cute."  
"Puppies and kittens and you."  
"Don't make me go all vampire to prove you wrong."  
Ric climbs onto the big four-poster, tossing his shoes aside. Now, in bed, there are no more drinks. No more pretending that they’re not doing exactly what they're doing. Right now, Damon has no desire for sarcasm. For once, not pretending sounds pretty fucking nice.  
Ric leans over him and presses his slightly parted lips against Damon's cheek.  
"Can I have the crown back?" Damon whispers, slipping it off Ric's head.  
"I thought it was a gift," Ric mumbles petulantly, clearly caring more about kissing Damon's cheek than the gold plastic crown.  
"Call it a kink," Damon says, putting it on. "But I want to wear the crown tonight."  
Their lips meet gently at first, tentative and wondering, but any politeness quickly gives way to fast nipping and pleading. Damon is overcome with want and wonders if Ric has a similar desire to possess him completely. When Ric pushes his hips into Damon's stomach, he feels the hard length of Ric's erection and knows that he isn't the only one feeling this way. A breathy moan escapes his lips before he can quell it, but he can't stop to be embarrassed. Because now Ric is kissing his way down Damon's torso, sliding his fingertips maddeningly along the sharp edges of his hipbones and stopping just before the waistband of his pants.  
"If you're trying to teach me self-restraint, I'm probably going to fail," Damon warns, eyes twinkling in the dim light. "Mr. Saltzman."  
Ric lifts up and kisses Damon's forehead.  
"I don't want you to restrain yourself," he says. "I want you to bite me where you said I'd like it."  
Damon looks at him carefully, trying to keep the excitement from his face. If this isn't what Ric wants, wholly and without a doubt, then Damon doesn't want it either.  
"Ric--"  
"I'm sure," Ric says, laying down and pulling Damon on top of him. "I've heard what Stefan says about you, and I believe most of it. But I don't believe any of it makes you untrustworthy."  
This is all he needed to say. Damon kisses him wildly, the promise of bloodlust sparking the now-familiar sense of lighting from his head to his feet. He pulls back and starts taking off his pants.  
"A little housekeeping before the real fun can start," he says, grinning lazily down at Ric. He tosses his pants aside and gives Ric the same treatment, unable to keep himself from staring.  
"Are you just gonna look at me for the rest of the night?" Ric teases, bucking his hips desperately.  
"Be careful what you wish for," Damon says, lowering himself so their erections are touching. He starts moving up and down with punishing slowness, laughing quietly when Ric starts to move against him. "Patience."  
Ric looks petulant, but Damon knows that the payoff will be worth all the blissfully torturous lead up. He kisses the annoyance from Ric's lips and starts grinding harder and faster.  
"Does that feel good?" Damon murmurs, continuing to circle his hips against Ric's cock.  
"Yeah," Ric pants, fisting his hands in Damon's hair and tensing his body.  
"Good," Damon breathes into the sensitive hollows above Ric's collarbones, licking his way from one to another and tasting the tangy sweat. "But I don't want you to come this way."  
He raises himself off and rummages through his nightstand until he finds what he's looking for. A bottle of lube.  
"Damon," Ric groans, squirming beneath him. But Damon's legs are pressed into his hips--straddling him and keeping him from moving away.  
"Patience, Mr. Saltzman," Damon smirks, because clearly he's the one doing the teaching tonight.  
He deftly smoothes cool lube over Ric's cock, working faster when the motion earns him an appreciative hiss from between Ric's clenched teeth. He works himself open with the extra lube, tossing the bottle to the ground and lowering himself onto Ric.  
Ric grips Damon's hips tightly, moaning as the up-and-down motion begins to overwhelm him--overtaking all other senses as soon as it starts. Damon takes one of Ric's hands in his and slides Ric's index finger between his parted lips. He loves how Ric watches it happen--wide-eyed and gasping as Damon sucks his finger down to the knuckle.  
"God, Damon," Ric grunts, pushing himself deeper into Damon. In response, Damon takes another of Ric's finger into his mouth and swirls his tongue down to the base.  
Damon is close to orgasm, erection tight against his stomach and throbbing with each of Ric's greedy shoves. He grasps his cock and starts to stroke himself, closing his eyes and tracing his tongue over Ric's sensitive fingertips.  
Ric's hand quickly replaces his own, running the length of Damon's erection and teasing the head with his thumb. Damon groans into Ric's wet fingers and opens his eyes to see Ric staring at him with a kind of feral intensity. There's something dangerous about being with a hunter like this--two warring predators making prey of one another--that turns Damon on in a way he's never experienced before.  
As he feels Ric begin to tense with orgasm, Damon takes Ric's fingers out of his mouth and bites into the softly calloused flesh of his palm. He sucks deeply, the fight for control waging within as he tastes the blood that keeps Ric alive. He feels Ric come inside him and allows himself to let go for a moment--just long enough to allow himself the same release.  
Their climax is lingering, Ric pushing into Damon's spent body as Damon relaxes his fangs out of Ric's bleeding palm. Ric's eyes are wild with pain and pleasure in equal measure, the air between their heaving chests tropical and sticky.  
Damon rolls off him and wraps his arms around Ric's chest, letting his fingers trace gentle paths through the downy hair.  
"How was that?" he asks with an uncharacteristic amount of apprehension.  
"Honestly, Damon…you can feed from me anytime."  
"Spoken like someone who thoroughly enjoyed himself." Damon trails kisses across Ric's broad shoulders, hoping the barest of touches is reassuring. He wants to show Ric that bloodlust is not all he feels--not even close.  
"Do you want me to leave?" Ric asks, pulling the white sheet over their sweaty, still-entwined bodies.  
"No, Ric," Damon says quietly. "Weirdly enough, I think I'll actually sleep better with you here."  
Ric laughs and finds Damon's hand beneath the sheets.  
"How am I going to teach history with you sitting in my class?"  
"I'm sure we'll find ways to cope," Damon says, wondering if Ric can feel the devious smirk pressed into the smooth skin between his shoulder blades.  
"I'm not going to pretend I haven't imagined us christening my desk."  
"Lucky for you, I can be a morning person. I wouldn't mind adding a zero period before history."  
"Your grade is so bad, you could use the extra tutoring," Ric laughs sleepily.  
"But we'll still have long talks about history--mine in particular--and drink. You have to take me up on those crystal tumblers now."  
"Sure, Damon," Ric mumbles, amused and already half-asleep. "I'll take the fucking tumblers if it makes you happy."


End file.
